Luck Be a Trickster
by Adara-chan67
Summary: Sequel to Luck Be a Lady and Luck Be a Devil. At his wits' end, Dean makes a last-ditch effort to save Sam. Rating for violence and some dark stuff. Also, I know little to nothing about psychology.
1. O Brother, Where Art Thou?

_Disclaimer: I have even less in the way of material goods than I did a month ago, so I'm even _less_ likely to own anything._

_Characters: Sam and Dean Winchester, Niko and Cal Leandros, and Robin Goodfellow, who is probably very badly portrayed._

_Setting: Post-"The Man Who Knew Too Much" and sequel to _Luck Be a Lady_ and _Luck Be a Devil. _You probably won't really understand this one unless you read at least one of those._

_Warnings: Spoilers for "The Man Who Knew Too Much" and references to two of my previous stories, _Bonds of Blood _and_ Where They'll Always Take You In. _You don't really have to read those last two to understand this, though._

* * *

><p>Chapter 1<p>

"_You can run on for a long time…run on for a long time…run on for a long time…sooner or later God'll cut you down…sooner or later God'll cut you down…"_

"Dean, do you seriously have to keep playing this song? You don't even _listen_ to Johnny Cash. That was Dad's thing, remember?"

Dean glanced at his brother, who, for once, was looking back at him. "Yeah, well, it seems more applicable lately."

"Yeah, that's not morbid," Sam said, rolling his eyes.

"Tell me I'm wrong and I won't play it anymore," Dean challenged.

Sam opened his mouth, then closed it again, shaking his head with a sigh as Dean pointedly turned up the volume on the radio.

"_Go tell that long tongue liar…go and tell that midnight rider…tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter…tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down…tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down…"_

XXX

It had been two weeks since Dean had started playing that song at least twice a day. Two weeks since the Winchester boys had lost one of the only friends they had left. Two weeks since they'd basically gone on the run even though running seemed completely pointless.

Two weeks since Dean had lost two-thirds of his little brother.

And it had been a fairly hellish two weeks, too. They spent most of their time in motels even scummier than the ones they were used to, or in crap diners, or in the car. They obviously couldn't hunt, not with the danger they were in constantly, not with Sam the way he was now.

Dean spent most of that time glancing over his shoulder, certain every moment that he would hear the distinctive but indescribable _sound_ that used to precede Cas's appearances, or that one of those times he looked over his shoulder he would find himself looking into the now-cold eyes of his once-best friend.

And Sam—well, what he was going through right now put all of Dean's problems to shame.

XXX

"_I can't believe you seriously want to ignore this."_

_Dean glared at the man sitting on the bed across from him—who _wasn't_ his brother, he reminded himself firmly—and said flatly, "Sam will get it when I tell him."_

_Not-Sam shoved his hair back, obviously wishing he had a way to keep it out of his face, Dean having thrown out all his hair products months ago. "I'm still Sam."_

_It was an argument they'd been having on and off for a week now, ever since they'd figured out the consequences of Sam's wall coming down. Well, maybe argument was too strong a word, since it implied that both parties cared about the outcome. _

"_No, you're not. You're…like…Anti-Sam." _And I definitely didn't miss you when you were gone.

_Anti-Sam didn't look hurt or angry. He just shrugged and said, "Fine. I'll do this hunt on my own."_

"_No, you won't," Dean said, still without inflection, barely glancing up from the magazine he'd been reading when Anti-Sam started this ridiculous conversation in the first place._ I have sedatives and I'm not afraid to use them. And even if you don't have any scruples whatsoever right now and wouldn't think twice about breaking one of my legs or something, I can still take you.

_Anti-Sam shrugged. "Okay, whatever. But you do realize that innocent people are dying, don't you?"_

"_Don't even try it. We both know you don't care about saving anyone. You're just bored. You want to get your kill on, which is not an option, since neither of us have any idea how long you'll stick around. For all we know you'll change into the real Sam or the other-other Sam in the middle of a fight. That could easily get all three of you killed and I'm not gonna risk that."_

"_Dean."_

_Dean's gaze shot up from the magazine, instantly recognizing the change in his brother's voice. "Sam!" he said with a relieved grin. "You okay?"_

_Sam shrugged. "As okay as I can be, I guess. Not-Sam?"_

"_Actually, I renamed him. He's Anti-Sam now. And I guess the catatonic/screaming one can be Other Sam."_

_He was relieved to see Sam smile, but as he'd expected, the smile faded quickly. "I'm getting really tired of this."_

_Dean sighed heavily. "Me, too, Sammy. Me, too."_

XXX

Dean (and Sam, when he was there) was getting increasingly desperate to do something—hell, _anything_—to get out of this mess. Not that they would be able to get out of it entirely—the stuff with Cas was almost certain to end only when either he or the Winchesters were dead—but if Sam could just be himself, fully and completely, again, well, Dean for one would be fine with that.

Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be anything to be done. Bobby was working on it, deep in his books and grouchy on the phone, but he hadn't found anything yet. Sam spent a good deal of the time at the library or the computer, but Anti-Sam wasn't remotely interested in researching the problem and Other Sam was frankly useless. Dean had even gone behind Sam's back trying to get hold of Death, but he wasn't really all that surprised when it didn't work.

The only good thing to be said about any of this was that at least Sam wasn't getting worse or anything. It wasn't as if his "Sam" periods were becoming fewer and his "other" periods more numerous. He would just change at random—or sometimes if some sort of trigger occurred, like Dean turned off all the lights in the motel room or something—and if that sucked, well, at least he didn't appear to be slipping any further away.

Still, theirs wasn't any kind of life. Things were worse than they'd been in…well, possibly ever. The Winchesters been through their fair share, but they'd never really been forced into this kind of…stasis. They'd never been stuck doing nothing but running away, and they were both surprised by how much they hated it.

So it was no surprise that the second Dean got an idea, he latched onto it with both hands, even though he had no clue where the thought came from and even though it was most likely an absolutely terrible one.

XXX

"We're here."

Dean threw the car in park as he spoke and glanced over at his brother. He didn't really expect Sam to answer, considering that Other Sam had popped up about six hours ago, and sure enough, Other Sam was still there when he looked, staring blankly out the windshield.

_Damn._

Dean pushed aside his disappointment and turned off the car, stuffing the keys into his pocket. Other Sam didn't move as he opened the door and climbed out to head to the passenger's side. "Okay, Other Sam," he said, since he was never quite sure what Other Sam heard and what he didn't. "We're just gonna get you out of the car, and you're not gonna punch me when I touch you today, right?" He decided to take Other Sam's complete lack of response as a "yes" and reached out to place a gentle hand on Other Sam's shoulder, bracing himself in case a fist came flying out of nowhere like it sometimes did in moments like these. Other Sam seemed fairly calm today, though, and allowed Dean to touch him without issue.

"Thataboy," Dean muttered, pretty much to himself, as he dragged Sam up out of the car.

Other Sam was usually pretty good about walking on his own once he was upright. There were only a couple of (very memorable) occasions when Dean had let go of him and he'd just kind of sunk to the ground and sat there. Both times he'd reacted violently to all Dean's attempts to get him back on his feet, and Dean had ended up having to sit beside him on the ground—once for only about thirty minutes, the other time for almost three hours—for Other Sam to leave and Sam to take his place.

Luckily, today was not one of those days. Other Sam walked calmly beside him as he made his way to his destination, stood at the door, and knocked firmly, hoping like hell that they wouldn't have to turn right back around and search somewhere else. But today seemed to be his lucky day—_ha_—and the door opened before long to reveal a decidedly familiar scowl.

"Seriously, how the _hell_ do you keep finding us?"

"Yeah, nice to see you, too, Cal," Dean replied. "Can we come in?"

Cal leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms. "Thought you said you weren't coming back again," he said, gaze drifting lazily from Dean to Other Sam. "Then again, I guess things were pretty different when you decided that," he added, apparently unsurprised.

"Nice, kid. You been taking some lessons in unflappability from your brother or something?" Dean asked irritably. "And for God's sake, can we _please_ come in before Other Sam here decides he doesn't want to stand up anymore?"

"Cal, stop being yourself and let them in, please."

Cal glared over his shoulder. "You take the fun out of everything, Nik."

"You're the one who insisted on telling them we're related. No doubt that's what keeps inspiring them to come find us. Let them in."

Cal rolled his eyes, but stepped aside without further protest to let Dean and Other Sam into the apartment. Dean cautiously put a hand on Other Sam's shoulder to steer him onto the couch, then turned to look at what basically amounted to his last hope.

The Leandros brothers hadn't changed much since Dean last saw them. Then again, he _had_ only met them twice, so he guessed he didn't really have much for comparison. He only hoped they still had that whole "solve problems without breaking a sweat or asking too many questions" thing going on.

Niko was standing in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, holding a glass in his hand, one eyebrow raised as he looked at Sam—his version of shock, probably. "What happened to him being dead?" he asked Dean, gesturing at Other Sam with the hand that held the glass.

"Long story. Not going into it. Maybe after."

"After…what?" Cal asked, not sounding terribly interested.

"After you help me get Sam back."

The room was dead silent for about five seconds. Then Cal said to his brother in an audible whisper, "You want to tell him or should I?"

Dean tried to hold his irritation in check, reminding himself that he couldn't afford to offend anyone here right now. "Yeah, about that. I guess intros would come in handy here. Cal, Niko, meet Other Sam. Other Sam…probably has no idea we're even in New York, so never mind."

Other Sam proved the point by failing to react to the sound of his name, his surroundings, or the fact that his long-undiscovered half-brother was in the room with him.

"As you can see," Dean went on gloomily, "Sam isn't exactly…Sam…right now. Actually, he has multiple personalities. That's one of them. I named him Other Sam. He's actually the more pleasant of the two new personalities. The other one is Anti-Sam, and he's...well, I didn't miss him while he was gone."

But Cal and Niko didn't need to know about those hellish months when Sam first returned to him from the cage, and Dean wasn't going to continue this conversation any longer than he had to. He moved on quickly, ignoring the way the Leandros brothers glanced at each other, clearly having noticed that he'd omitted a few things.

"Long story short, Sam spent some time in Hell. His body got pulled back out after a few months, but unfortunately his soul didn't come along for the ride. Instead his soul spent over a year of our time—and probably at least a century in Hell-time—getting tortured down there. And when he came back all the way he repressed all the memories—" _With a little help, but we are _not_ going into that. _"—but then they all came back at once, really, really suddenly, and he became…this. And I don't know how to help him. I can't take him to a hospital, or I'd probably never see him again, and besides…"

He trailed off, unsure how to phrase the problem. On the one hand, even he had too much of a conscience to lie about this part. But on the other hand…

Well, the other hand didn't really matter, did it? He had to tell them, whether or not it caused them to send him away.

"Okay, the truth is, Sam and I are in deep shit," he said simply. "Someone might be coming for us. Someone really, _really_ dangerous. And if he catches up to us…" He shrugged. "Well, we're toast and that's that. And I can't promise you guys will be safe. Actually, you'll probably be just as dead as we are if he shows up here. That's another reason I don't want to take Sam to a hospital. I don't want to endanger anyone any more than I have to. So I can't go to normal people for help, which makes you guys pretty much the only hope I have, and…that's it."

Niko and Cal hadn't attempted to interrupt him as he rambled on, and they didn't say anything now, either. After a moment Cal took a few steps forward to kneel in front of Other Sam and stare at him. Niko watched his brother's actions, and though Dean couldn't quite figure out the expression on the older brother's face, he felt like he was intruding all the same.

"He really remembers everything?" Cal asked, sounding oddly troubled. "Like…_everything_?"

"Well, he isn't really in a position to tell me, but my guess would be that he remembers every damn second," Dean said, more harshly than intended.

Cal didn't seem to notice, though. He just turned to Niko and said abruptly, "I think we should call Robin."

Niko nodded and disappeared into the kitchen without a word.

"Robin?" Dean asked, trying to keep any accusation out of his voice. "Who the hell is Robin? Can Sam and I trust him?" Normally he would think of a better way of asking, but his patience was frayed almost to the breaking point.

"If we were talking about trusting one of his stories, or trusting him not to steal your wallet, or trusting him not to have sex with your girlfriend or your boyfriend or your car or a hole in your wall…then no, not as far as you could throw him," Cal said without missing a beat. "But for the really important stuff…yeah, absolutely."

That wasn't exactly reassuring. "And…is this really important? To him, I mean?"

Cal turned away from Other Sam to look at him, and his expression softened slightly. "Look, if anyone can help you, he can, okay? I promise. If it's possible to get Sam back and kick these other guys out, Goodfellow'll get it done."

"Okay, but the thing is, Sam is incredibly vulnerable right now, and we're already in enough trouble as it is. So I'm gonna need a little more than that. What's he gonna do to my brother?"

He'd half expected a reply along the lines of, _"You're_ the one begging for _our_ help, remember?" The Cal he'd met years ago—even the one he'd met right after Sam had gone down—would almost definitely have said almost exactly that. So he was kind of surprised when the younger man answered him without so much as a sarcastic remark.

"Hypnotize him, probably. Figure out what's going on in Sam's head and…"

"Fix it?" Dean asked, sounding painfully—almost pathetically—hopeful.

"Or help him fix it himself."

"And that's not…you know…dangerous?"

"Hell, yes, it's dangerous," Cal said instantly. "And it'll be far from fun, for him, or you, or any of us. But if it saves your brother, do you really care?"

Dean was forced to admit that the kid had a point—they couldn't really hit a lower point without Sam actually dying, and…

Well, that just wasn't going to happen. Period. End of sentence. They'd both had enough of that for one lifetime, thank you very much.

"Robin's on his way, after a five-minute re-enactment of you when the alarm clock goes off in the morning," Niko said as he reappeared. "It seems I pulled him away from an…engagement with Ishiah."

"I don't even want to know," Cal said with a groan.

"Nevertheless, I suspect he'll tell you anyway. In full detail."

"_Us,_ you mean," Cal said, sounding a little desperate. "He'll tell _us_ in full detail."

"No," Niko replied. "Just you. _I_, you see, have the ability to block him out. _You_, on the other hand, couldn't tune out the sound of a TV on mute. I'm sure you wish you'd practiced meditation more now, don't you?"

Cal glared at him. "You suck."

During this loving exchange, Dean had moved to sit down cautiously next to Other Sam. "Excuse me," he said, the impatience in his tone warring with the politeness of his words, "but you mind telling me how far away this Robin guy is? 'Cause the longer we're here…"

"The more danger we're all in. Yeah, we got it. Care to elaborate on that, by the way?" Cal asked breezily, heading into the kitchen himself.

"Not really," Dean called after him. "But suffice it to say, if the guy who's after us shows up here, none of us have much of a chance."

"Speak for yourself," Cal said, tossing a beer across to him as he reappeared in the doorway. Dean caught it easily and twisted the cap off, taking a swig as Cal continued. "But it would be one hell of a demon to be able to take Nik." The words weren't bragging; it was clear that he was stating a simple fact.

Unfortunately, Dean had a fact to top that one. "It's not a demon," he said tersely. "It's a pissed-off angel with a God complex and the supernatural equivalent of an A-bomb inside him. And if your brother pokes him with a sword all he's gonna accomplish is blowing the bomb up. Sorry, man," he added, looking apologetically at Niko. "I don't know how much he cares about finding us, but I'm pretty sure that once he decides he doesn't want us to be alive anymore, he'll show up here about a second later. That said, I am _not _gonna let Sam die the way he is right now. So faster is really better."

Niko raised an eyebrow at Cal and said mildly, "Remember that it was your idea to help them."

"Yeah, well, I'm kind of regretting that right now," Cal said, rolling his eyes.

"No, you aren't," Niko said, and there was something in his voice that told Dean that he was saying far more than he seemed to be.

Cal still looked annoyed, but he looked at Other Sam and said quietly, "No, I'm not."

XXX

Robin Goodfellow was…not what Dean was expecting. Of course, he didn't really have any brain space to figure out what he _had_ been expecting, but an—objectively speaking—incredibly good-looking guy with bright green eyes and a shattering lack of tact probably wasn't it.

Nevertheless, that was what he got. Robin came striding into the apartment without knocking, and before he even glanced at the Winchesters he looked at Niko and Cal and said, "You know, when I first met you two, I was actually happy. For you, I mean. It was perfectly clear that both of you—admittedly, one more than the other, but both to a certain extent—would find my influence incredibly beneficial. You were both clearly living in a state of complete sexual denial—"

"Hey!" Cal said. "Uncalled for!"

"—And even though you do appear to have learned something from me, clearly it was not enough, as you still have not learned the most important lesson."

"You know, in case you forgot, Nik and I aren't exactly living virginal lives these days," Cal said irritably. "And besides—"

"_Ishiah was in California for _days_," _Robin said, positively growling now. "That is _plural. _I was _celibate_ for _multiple days. _In a row. _This had better be good."_

"Will you get a grip?" Cal snapped irritably. "Your dick could use the break anyway. And I'm sure Ishiah could, too, the poor bastard. And the sooner you get to work, the more likely we are to survive, okay?"

Robin raised an eyebrow. "Wow. Even by the special-ordered, extremely low bar I use to judge your temper, you are unusually cranky today." Then he seemed to think about it and added, "All right, that's not true. But you are cranky."

Cal clenched his teeth and was about to speak when Niko said in a slightly raised voice, "Robin, meet Dean and…Other Sam, who is the one we called you to help."

Robin looked from one Leandros brother to the other, then turned toward the couch. "Hmm. Well, as far as ruggedly handsome guests go, you could definitely do worse. But this one…" He took a step closer to the couch, his eyes fixed on Other Sam, and Dean shifted minutely closer to his brother, hand ready to reach for his gun. "What's wrong with him?"

"Short version—went to Hell, repressed it, came back with multiple personalities, and Dean here would like him to go back to being one guy. Oh, and the longer they're here the more likely a pissed off atomically powerful angel will show up and kill us all fast and bloody. So. Hop to."

Dean followed Cal's synopsis with a half-wave. "Pretty much what he said, only with more of a threat at the end. As in—"

"Don't bother articulating it," Robin cut him off. "I've heard enough big brother threats from Niko here. Granted, none of them were actually aimed at me—at least not recently—but I can guess what you're going to say." He took another step, saying as he did, "And you can stop casually reaching for whatever you have in your pants. I'm not going to hurt him, and you couldn't hurt me. So," he added, crouching down in front of Other Sam in much the same position as Cal had minutes before, "he has multiple personalities?"

"Uh…yeah. Three of them," Dean said. "This one's Other Sam. Of the two extras, he's…more pleasant, I guess. But I'm not too fond of either of them."

"Hmm…and when he's himself, he doesn't remember what goes on when he's one of the others?"

"Not even flashes. But I admit he hasn't really tried, and I haven't really wanted him to."

"Probably a good idea," Robin agreed absently, still staring at Other Sam. He was already completely different from the guy who'd come through the door, his manner somehow reminiscent of a doctor—one with a surprisingly good bedside manner. "Well, I'll do my best to help, but I have no way of knowing how tangled—or separate—things are in his head. We might be here awhile."

Cal sighed heavily. "I'll get more beer."

"I'll order dinner," Niko added.

"I should get some stuff in case C…the angel shows up," Dean said reluctantly.

"Don't bother," Cal said. "There's nothing you could get that we don't already have, trust me."

"Besides, it's probably better if you stay," Robin informed Dean. "Having you nearby might be…helpful."

"Well, I was just talking about going out to my car, but…okay. Sure. So…how does this go, anyway? What do I do?"

"You do nothing," Robin said. "If all goes well, Sam and I will be doing all the work. Still, best be ready. He might need to be…restrained."

Dean didn't like the sound of that, but he didn't get a chance to speak before Robin pulled a chair over in front of Other Sam, sat down, and stared at him intently.

"I know you're in there somewhere, Sam, and I want you to listen to me. That's all you have to do. Just listen…"

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: I was only intending for this to be a one-shot, but it got too long, so…multiple chapters it is. And as for why it took me so long to post…well…my laptop and wireless setup sort of floated away in a small flood, along with the notebook I wrote in and just about anything else important I owned. So. Yeah.<em>

_Also, I clearly cannot write Robin at all. He's way too witty for me. Oh, well. We must press on. _


	2. Hell's Bells

_WARNING: Squick factor ahead. _

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 2<span>

Sam Winchester's mind was…different…from most of the minds that Robin had entered before. True, everyone's psyche was unique, varied in many small ways, but even considering that fact, Sam's was…odd. For one thing, where normally there would be some sort of landscape—mountain, forest, street, park, house, bar, office building…_something_—here there was only gray fog, not formless, but rather constantly changing. It turned and twisted into shapes that dissipated almost as soon as they formed.

Looking at the blankness around them, Robin allowed his irritation vent in a sigh. _So much for finishing this quickly._

But there was nothing for it; Niko and Cal had asked them to do this, and if they actually asked anyone for anything, it was usually pretty damn important. Plus Robin had been able to tell with a single glance that this kid Sam was messed up, broken inside in ways that maybe even Cal wasn't. Besides, the brother, Dean, was an…interesting sort. Almost as protective of his family as Niko was, and about a hundred times as angry. What he was angry about, exactly, Robin had no idea, but there was no doubt that he was. Angry…and sad. Grieving. And scared. And almost impossibly good at hiding all of it.

In other words, Sam and Dean Winchester were at least as screwed up as Cal and Niko Leandros, if not more so.

_Well. This should be interesting, then. Not interesting enough to make up for what I left back at home, but…interesting._

He had been waiting expectantly as he thought, and now his patience was rewarded when the fog spun itself into another shape in front of him, one that didn't dissipate, but rather solidified until it was as real as Robin himself. Once it was fully formed, Robin could see that it was a dog…but not like any dog he'd ever seen. Well, all right, he couldn't say for sure he'd never seen one like it, since there were thousands of years of his life that he didn't remember at all and didn't bother trying to remember. But it wasn't like any dog he could _remember_ ever seeing, that was for sure.

It was the same shape and size as a golden retriever, but it didn't have a gold coat. It was covered in a thin layer of skin that had been peeled away in great strips to expose bone and muscle. Blood matted what little fur there was, and its deep brown eyes were…hollow. Empty.

Robin had no real affinity for animals in general, but even he wanted to help the thing. Not _touch_ it, of course, but…fix it if he could.

It stood exactly where it had formed, staring at him. It didn't make a sound, not a growl, not a whimper. After studying him for a while, it seemed to make up its mind and turned to walk away. Even its walk was defeated, which shouldn't be possible for a dog, which is for the most part an incorrigibly bouncy creature.

Robin was unsure where this was going, but he followed the creature anyway.

They walked for a long time while around them the fog spat out figures that Robin knew would prove incredibly disturbing if he focused on them. Out of the corners of his eyes he could see people, and flames, and knives, and blood, and all manner of horrible things. Once, when he couldn't stop himself from looking in time, he beheld the face of a woman, no more than twenty-five or thirty, her face contorted in a silent scream as a knife held by an invisible hand slid into her left eye. She disappeared as quickly as the rest, but not fast enough.

At long, long last, the fog began to thin until finally it was just gray fingers creeping across the ground, snatching at the dog and at Robin but passing harmlessly through them.

In front of them was…a house.

Well. That was unexpected.

The place was barely worth calling a house, actually. It was more like the skeleton of a house, right down to gaping holes where wood had rotted and fallen apart. It looked far from structurally sound.

The dog padded up the broken porch stairs and went straight inside.

Robin stared after it. _Yes, of _course_ I'll walk into the broken-down house at the end of the road of torture victims and fire. This plan cannot possibly have any negative consequences whatsoever. _

Gritting his teeth, he followed the creature, swearing up and down that once he saved this kid and got back to the real world, someone—or all four of them—owed him.

Big time.

Enough that he wasn't going to be buying his own drinks for years.

The porch creaked alarmingly as he climbed the stairs, and he amended his last thought.

He wasn't going to be buying his own drinks for _decades._

Inside, the place was even worse. There was no furniture to be seen, though broken pieces of wood and glass littering the floor indicated that there had been once. Everything was coated in a layer of grime and dust and a musty smell seemed to permeate the very walls.

Robin looked around and saw the dog's tail vanishing around the corner into the next room and, groaning inwardly, followed it. The next room was a kitchen containing only a table with three broken legs, a refrigerator with the door hanging half off, and a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling illuminating the whole thing, though judging by its flickering it wouldn't be doing so for long.

Close behind the dog now, Robin followed it through another doorway into a room that was devoid of even that one light bulb. In here it was almost completely dark, the only light coming in through the grimy window, and even that was almost entirely worthless considering the fog outside. However, it was enough for Robin to make out the still human figure slumped in a chair in the corner.

The dog padded into the room and over to the man in the chair, who leaned down and held out a hand to it, murmuring so quietly that Robin almost didn't hear, "Hey, Bones."

_Bones. What a delightful name for the little fellow…_Robin thought, his mental voice sounding sarcastic even to him.

Bones sniffed at the hand and then licked at it feebly a couple of times before lowering itself gingerly to the ground and resting there, looking balefully at Robin, who was certain that no creature in the history of creation had ever looked so utterly wretched as that dog at that moment.

He kept that opinion right up until the man in the chair leaned forward out of the gloom.

It was Sam Winchester, as he'd hoped, but not quite the Sam Winchester sitting on Niko and Cal's couch. This Sam was utterly bedraggled. His clothes were barely tatters and almost as dirty as the room itself. His face was smudged with dirt except for cleared patches on each cheek where tears had run. But the worst part was his eyes.

What human could have eyes that dead and still be sane?

Sam was ignoring him completely, but it didn't seem to be on purpose. Maybe if it was intentional it would have been less creepy. But instead it was as if Robin wasn't there and never had been there and never would be there—as if in Sam's mind it always had been and always would be just him and Bones, and there was nothing else for it.

Robin cleared his throat loudly and said, "Hello, Sam." Sam didn't twitch, but Bones let out a small sound, like a sigh mixed with a whimper, barely given voice. The dog watched as Robin took a step forward, then another and another, until he was right in front of the chair. "Sam?" he repeated. Bones whined low in his throat. Robin looked down at him for a moment and then made up his mind. Fighting back revulsion, he leaned down and carefully patted the dog's head.

Sam screamed, and suddenly they weren't in the house anymore.

XXX

"_What the hell, man?" Cal said loudly, jumping forward to pull Robin out of the way of Sam's swinging fists as Dean leapt behind Sam and wrapped his arms around his brother from behind, pinning his arms in place._

_Robin hadn't reacted to the sudden assault, not even when Sam punched him in the eye—he didn't seem to feel it at all. Even now he was sprawled backward on the floor, Cal's hand on his shoulder, jaw tense as if in the midst of a great struggle._

"_Sam. _SAM. _It's okay. Calm down, kid. We're just trying to help…_ow_…" Dean grunted as he took an elbow to the groin, but even then his grip didn't loosen._

"_What the hell is going on in there?" Cal asked through gritted teeth._

XXX

They were somewhere underground, of that much Robin was certain. There were no windows to the room, and oddly enough, no doors, just four very solid, very thick-looking steel-and-concrete walls, which were…_bleeding._ Already dark with what had already dried there, new blood flowed afresh, seeping toward the floor, which was likewise covered in blood and…parts.

Looking resolutely away from the spectacle, Robin realized that there was a metal table in the exact middle of the room, and on that table was Sam. He was strapped down tightly by chains that dug deep into his wrists, almost to the bone. And he was staring at the end of the table where his feet were tied and murmuring without a breath, "Nononononononononono..."

Robin knew in an instant that he did not want to see whatever Sam was so afraid of, but this was Sam's mind, Sam's memories, and neither of them could look away.

Then suddenly there were two figures standing in the spot Sam was looking at, and Robin had the feeling that they had always been there and he just hadn't seen them. Both of them were looking dispassionately, clinically, at Sam, and just as Sam had they ignored Robin completely.

"Nonononononononononono_pleaseplease_noIwannagohomenonononono..."

Looking utterly unmoved by Sam's pleas, one of the two figures reached toward a tray that had always been next to the table and picked up a long, thin knife that had likewise always been there. This he handed to the man next to him, who took it and stepped up to Sam's side, by his head. Meanwhile the first man picked up another implement from the tray and moved down toward Sam's feet.

And then they began to…carve. It became clear almost immediately where the body parts on the floor had come from as one of them slowly, almost gently, removed one of Sam's eyes from its socket and let it fall. The other one, meanwhile, was engaged in pulling off toenails and dropping them carelessly. They worked their way over Sam's entire body, and more and more dropped to the floor as time passed.

Sam screamed through the whole thing, of course.

Robin realized dimly that he was screaming, too.

XXX

"_What's happening to them?" Cal said through gritted teeth, helping Niko hold down a writhing Robin as Dean struggled to restrain Sam._

"_How should I know? It's not like Other Sam has ever been in a position to fill me in!" Dean snapped._

"_Did he do this when he hypnotized me?" Cal asked his brother, leaning back as Robin kicked spastically. "Scream like this?"_

"_No," Niko said tersely. "You did all the screaming then."_

"_Then what's going on now? And how can we wake him up?"_

"_I don't think we can," Niko said. "He got himself in, and he has to get himself out. And hopefully he can bring Sam with him."_

"_Well, I hope he can do it soon," Cal said grimly. "I've never seen him lose it like this."_

XXX

The thing about being in people's minds, Robin had learned long ago, was that the human mind wasn't governed by universal rules. It was impossible to tell what was _real_ there—so much was symbolic, or just plain fake. When you were in a place where the rules were just made up as you meant along, without your knowledge or control, it was difficult, almost impossible, to control anything.

Luckily, Robin had done this many, many times over the last hundred millennia or so, and he knew how things worked here.

It was a long time before Robin managed to bring himself under control enough to think coolly about what to do now, even as Sam continued to be cut to bits in front of him. He reminded himself that this wasn't really happening, that he could spare Sam any more pain like this if he could just figure out what it was that the kid was trying to tell him.

He thought about it for a long time, trying in vain to close both his eyes and his ears to what was happening in front of him. When, after several minutes, he thought he'd hit upon the solution, he almost managed to smile.

_But surely it couldn't be that simple, _he thought wryly. Nothing ever was, after all.

Still, only one way to find out if his idea had any merit. Besides, he had a feeling he would really, _really_ enjoy doing it.

It went far more smoothly than it should have, actually, since no one except Bones seemed to notice him here. He was able to walk right by Sam and his tormenters and grab a weapon off the tray without anyone being any the wiser. The figures continued to carve merrily away at Sam's body even as Robin cut the head off one, and then the other.

It was almost ridiculously easy.

XXX

_Niko, Cal and Dean were equally unprepared when Robin and Sam went abruptly still and silent. For a moment the whole room was absolutely silent, until Cal sat Robin up and pulled him back into the chair with Niko's help. Robin slumped there, taking no notice of his friends or of Dean._

"_What…was _that_?" Cal panted, standing upright and brushing his hair out of his eyes._

"_I'm not sure. That didn't happen when he did it to you," Niko said quietly._

"_Yeah, what about that?" Dean asked. "What do you mean, when he did it to you?"_

"_That would be none of your business," Cal said coolly. "I'm gonna get another beer."_

_Niko watched as he left, and even Dean, who got almost all of his money by reading people, couldn't read the expression on his face._

XXX

Robin blinked as he found himself back in the darkened room that Bones had led him to. Everything was exactly the same as it was before...except that Sam was staring straight at him for the first time.

"What do you want?"

His voice was so hoarse as to be almost inaudible, his expression utterly uninterested, as if it was no difference to him whether Robin left or stayed right in front of him for all eternity, or even how he got there in the first place.

"I'm here by request," Robin answered calmly. "I came here, at great interruption to my own life, because my friends Niko and Cal asked me to save you. Do you remember Niko and Cal?"

He was prepared for almost any answer except for the one he got. Sam started laughing, a bitter, humorless laugh that would have chilled a lesser man than Robin.

"That's a funny question, because I remember everything," Sam said after a few moments. "I can't _forget_, see. Don't come any closer."

Robin stopped in his tracks at the flat order. "What do you want to forget, Sam?" he asked gently.

"_Everything,"_ Sam hissed. "I don't care if my whole _life_ has to get erased, I just don't want to be _here_ anymore."

"Well, I'm pretty sure that's what I came here for—to help you deal with your memories."

"I don't want to deal with them," Sam snapped. "I want them to go away."

"I can't make that happen," Robin said softly, apologetically. "It's not in my power, as much as I wish it was."

"So you can't make me forget. You can't erase what Michael and Lucifer did to me. What exactly _can_ you do?"

"I'm not sure. Even I, though wonderful in many ways, am not omniscient. I'm making this up as I go along. But I _think_ I can make it so that your world isn't quite so dark. Will you let me help you?"

Sam shrugged, still expressionless. "Whatever. It's not like you can make things any worse. Don't touch Bones."

Taken aback by the sudden order, Robin nevertheless mustered a chuckle. "I figured that out already."

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind. Look, Sam, you said before that you remember everything—that you can't forget. What did you mean by that?"

"I'd think that'd be pretty obvious."

"Yes, but did you mean that you remember everything about Hell, or everything about…everything?"

He was startled when Sam began to laugh again. "You don't get it. Hell is all there _is_ here, so yeah, that's all I remember. Every cut, every piece hitting that damn floor, every bit of flesh burned, every scream, every…damn…thing." He laughed even harder, and the sound sent chills down Robin's spine. _"__Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate…_as if anyone could possibly have a damn _choice_ in the matter!" He stopped laughing so suddenly that Robin actually started. "I abandoned hope a long time ago."

"Which might be the problem. You don't remember anything good ever happening to you, do you?"

"I can't. Nothing good ever _has_ happened to me. I barely know what the word even means. Nothing good happens here, and here's where I've always been."

"But that's not true. You just proved it. You quoted _The Inferno_…in Italian, no less. So that proves that you've read the book at some point—and also that you're a pretty damn smart kid."

Sam just looked impassively at him and said, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Robin shook his head. "You don't need to. You just need to trust me."

"I don't trust anyone."

"Well, fine, then just listen. Can you at least do that?"

"Isn't listening what I've been doing since you got here?"

If every word he said hadn't been laced with pain and exhaustion—the voice of a man who was so tired of existing that he would welcome almost anything else—then his replies would have been severely annoying. As it was, every word he spoke just made Robin more determined to help him.

He still didn't plan to pay for his own alcohol for a long, long time to come, though.

"Well, listen some more, then, because I'm going to try and remind you of some good stuff. Specifically Dean."

For the first time, his words actually seemed to have an effect on the kid, or at least, the last one did. Sam's carefully-maintained poker face wavered, his lips trembled a little, and for a second, his eyes actually seemed to contain a spark of…something.

"You remember Dean?" Robin asked, a little surprised.

"…No. I don't know who that is."

"Yes, you do," Robin said, somehow made more certain by the denial. "You may not realize it, but you do."

"No. I don't. Bones is the only one besides you and me who's ever been here."

"Well, that's true. He's never been here. But I have some news for you. 'Here' isn't real, kiddo. Dean is your brother, and _he's_ in the real world."

"The…the real world?" Sam asked, sounding uncertain now.

"Yeah. Out there, it's not like it is in here. It's not dark…not completely, anyway. It's nice there. That's where Dean is, and that's where you could be, too."

"Prove it."

"_Prove…_you certainly are a demanding psychological conundrum, aren't you?" Robin muttered, then sighed. "All right, I can't believe I'm going to say this, but we're going to try some visualization. Close your eyes."

"No."

"Just…just do it, all right? You already said I can't make things worse."

"What are you going to do?"

"I already told you, visualization. You're going to picture what I tell you to picture, and then we're going to see what happens." _And hopefully it will be something good, because I'd really like to get out of here soon._

Sam reluctantly let his eyes drift closed, and after a moment of thought, Robin started to talk, making his voice as low and soothing as he possibly could. He told Sam to picture himself outside, on a nice spring morning—clichéd, but for a reason. He described to Sam the feeling of the sun beating down and the breeze tickling his skin, making sure Sam was immersed completely in the vision before he added other fallbacks that never failed—happy kids, puppies, happy kids playing with puppies, stuff you couldn't go wrong with. Then, as a last touch, he added Dean, describing him as best he could from the brief conversation he'd had with the man, relying on impressions to get the personality right and to describe the relationship between the two of them.

He must have done something write, because after awhile, Sam began to smile. It wasn't a big smile—in fact, on almost anyone else it couldn't be called a smile at all—but on Sam, it was a massive change. Robin kept talking until he saw a flash of teeth, gone almost as soon as it appeared, and then stopped.

"You can open your eyes now, Sam."

But Sam didn't. He just asked hoarsely, "Is that real?"

"It is," Robin said. _Well, okay, not exactly, but real enough._ "And you can go there if you want."

Sam did open his eyes then, and fixed Robin with a gaze that was almost painfully hopeful. "How?"

"By coming with me. By letting me take you home." Robin straightened and said, "What do you say we get out of this dump once and for all?" When Sam only looked afraid, Robin held out a hand and said, "Come on. Where could I possibly take you that could be worse than here?"

Sam stared at his hand for a moment, then slowly stood up. "Come on, Bones," he murmured to the dog who had been lying in front of the chair through their entire conversation. "Let's go home."

Without a sound, Bones pushed himself up and followed Sam and Robin out of the room, through the kitchen, and back into the entryway, until Sam froze just before the doorway.

"I…I don't want to go out there. I've never been out there. What if it's worse than in here?"

"It's not. Sam…you're almost there." _I hope. I really, really, _really_ hope I'm right about this. _"Just…come on. Please."

Sam studied him carefully, as if trying to read the future, and then tentatively stepped out of the door.

And then he disappeared, and Robin felt himself disappear, too.

XXX

Robin woke to chaos.

He knew immediately that he was back in Cal and Niko's apartment, much to his own relief—he wasn't sure what he would have done if he and Sam had ended up back in the torture room again. But apparently, from the sound of raised voices, he hadn't succeeded in helping Sam.

"_Let him go." _Niko's voice, followed by the sound of a sword being unsheathed.

"Put that away." That would be Dean, and his voice was followed by the noise of a gun being cocked.

"What did you do, Dean?"

"Let him go, dude." Dean's voice again, sounding impatient and so very, very tired.

Blinking away the remnants of his confusion at being back, Robin looked around, taking in the situation at a glance.

Niko was standing behind him, near the wall, one of his many katanas in his hand, stance easy and ready for a fight. His eyes were fixed, not on the gun that Dean was holding on him, but on Sam…who held Cal in front of him, arm wrapped tightly around his neck, quite calmly choking the life out of him.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: That…was hard. I am so not used to writing such dark stuff. I wasn't actually intending for it to turn that dark at all. Nevertheless, for better or worse, it is done.<em>


	3. Stronger Than the Stories

_Author's Note: This chapter was partially influenced by an episode of _Criminal Minds.

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 3<span>

"_Let. Him. Go."_

"I asked you a question, Dean," Anti-Sam said calmly, not even glancing at Niko. "What did you do?"

"You don't want to do this, man," Dean said quietly, stepping forward and quite deliberately placing himself between Niko's blade and his brother's body. "Just…do what Niko says, okay? Let Cal go and we…we'll leave, okay?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Just that easy, huh? You really expect me to believe that, after you let some…_monster_ poke around in my head?"

"I resent that," Robin said mildly from somewhere behind Niko. "I prefer demigod, thank you."

"I was just trying to help," Dean said, unable to keep a certain degree of helplessness out of his voice.

"I don't need help."

"Yeah, but Sam does. I want my brother back, okay?"

Sam narrowed his eyes, his grip around Cal's throat never slackening for a moment, even as the latter began to turn vaguely purple. That didn't matter, though, because apparently Niko had had enough.

Dean didn't even realize he'd been shoved away and onto the ground until everything was already over. One second he was doing the protective older brother thing, and the next he was staggering to his feet, Niko was crouched next to Cal, one hand on his back as he tried to breathe, and Sam was out cold on the floor.

Dean stood stock-still for a second, his mind absolutely blank. Then he turned empty eyes to Robin and said flatly, "It didn't work."

"I'll have to take your word for that," Robin said, sounding a bit…off.

"Trust me. That wasn't Sam," Dean said harshly, stepping forward to crouch down next to the unconscious Anti-Sam. "He okay?" he asked, glancing at Niko, who was still on the floor next to Cal.

"I'll live," Cal rasped out before Niko could reply. "What the hell happened?"

"If I had to guess, I would say that Sam—"

"_Anti_-Sam," Dean said firmly. It _had_ to be Anti-Sam. If he didn't keep that thought at the forefront of his mind at all times—if he let the idea that he'd lost _his_ Sam_ again_ slip into his consciousness even for a second—then he wouldn't survive it. He knew that as well as he knew his own name. If he lost Sam again—if he lost even one more thing—he would go absolutely insane.

"Yes, I'm sorry," Niko said, with a look of…understanding.

_Understanding?_ Seriously?

There was no way. Because if there was seriously another person in the world who understood how Dean felt right now…

Well, then the world was way, _way_ more screwed up than he'd ever thought.

"Anyway, I would guess that Anti-Sam does not want Sam fixed," Niko said, helping Cal climb to his feet and over to a chair.

"Yeah, I got that," Cal snapped, massaging his throat pointedly. "What I _don't_ get is what _happened._ I mean, one second the guy's totally out of it, pretty much harmless, and the next he's…well…harmful."

"Yeah, well, that's what happens," Dean said curtly, propping Anti-Sam up on pillows so that when Sam turned up—not_ if_, never _if_—he would be comfortable. "Sorry, man," he added gruffly to Cal. "If I'd have known he'd get like that, I would've warned you."

The corner of Cal's mouth turned up slightly. "Yeah, well, I'm pretty used to my role as collateral damage. Don't worry about it."

While they'd been talking, Robin had been silent—a fact that, in any other situation, and with fewer problems to distract him, would have caused Cal to lock and load against the apocalypse.

Dean could have told him that the apocalypse had already come and gone, and taken his world along with it.

"Well, this is unacceptable," Robin finally said decidedly, as if he'd been in the midst of an argument. "I _don't_ fail. Ever. And if I'm going to be _here_ when Ishiah is sexy, naked, and wet _there_—when I left, anyway, and if he isn't in exactly the same state when I get back_ someone's_ going to pay—then when I leave, your brother is going to be _fixed._"

Dean stared at him, nonplussed. "Uh…okay. But…don't…do anything to hurt him, okay? Sam's still in there. Somewhere."

"Thank you for the vote of confidence," Robin said wryly, stepping forward to stand beside Dean and Sam. "I've never done this while the subject was asleep—well, not that I can remember, but you never say never when you've been around since the dodo was a thing—but the concept is basically the same." He looked over at Dean and added, "But if he reacts violently, and I end up with some sort of facial bruising—"

Dean was beginning to get a handle on Robin by now, so he just said, "I'll buy you the best Scotch in the continental U.S."

Robin nodded, as if this was only what was to be expected, and turned back to Sam.

"But Robin?" Dean added, suddenly unable to keep such a tight lid on his emotions. Robin turned to look at him, and he found himself saying, completely seriously, "If you get me my brother back, I'll buy you the whole damn bar."

XXX

Robin was back at that damn house.

Great.

Well, he wasn't going in. He didn't care what he was offered, he was pretty sure he didn't care if Sam Winchester was never himself again. He _was not going in there. _He'd gotten the kid out of that room, out of that hell—he _knew_ that. He knew there was nothing else in that house.

But then what the hell was he doing here?

As if in answer to his question, a large shape detached itself from the side of the dilapidated building. It was another dog, and like many things in Sam's head, it seemed as if it had always been there. This dog, though, was the exact opposite of Bones. It was an enormous Rottweiler, well-fed, muscular, and altogether ready to take on the world.

Or perhaps, from the way it was looking at him—and growling at him—ready to take on Robin.

Now, Robin may not have been the warrior that Niko—who was constantly battle-ready, awake, asleep, on death's door, wherever, whenever—was, but he hadn't lived all this time by pure dumb luck, either, and though he had never once said so, he was almost a hundred percent certain he could kill Niko in a one-on-one fight. And this was not Niko—this was a _dog_, and Robin had absolutely no doubt that even though he was unarmed, this thing posed no threat.

But he'd barely finished shifting into a readier fighting stance before the Rottweiler abruptly stopped growling, head cocked as if listening for something, and then turned abruptly and trotted away, following a path to the side of the house. It didn't look back, either uncaring as to whether Robin followed it or confident that he would do so.

Robin rolled his eyes, oddly irritated at the thing's presumption, and went after it.

This time, at least, the path was without mist, fire, or torture victims. In fact, it was almost _too_ clear, the trees, the rocks, and the dirt almost _too_ crisp. But that perfect clarity was a far cry better than seeing young women with knives through their eyes on the periphery, so Robin wasn't going to complain.

The dog didn't pause or look back once as he led Robin through the forest behind the house, until eventually the trees thinned out to make way for a narrow river. Then it broke into a long, ground-eating lope, forcing Robin to pick up his own pace, until he was running flat-out just to keep it in sight.

They kept running until they hit a clearing—and Sam Winchester with a rifle.

He wasn't aiming it at Robin or anything—he wasn't even holding it. It was just leaning casually against the boulder he was lounging on, his long, lanky form stretched out on its side, leaning on his elbow, hands clasped. He didn't look remotely disturbed by Robin's intrusion—he didn't even look at him. He just whistled to the dog and pointed to the other side of the clearing, and…a cave. The dog padded over and lay down on the ground at the cave mouth, somehow managing to look relaxed and alert at the same time—a talent that Sam Winchester shared. He still wasn't looking at Robin, watching the dog instead.

But evidently he was perfectly aware that Robin was there, because the puck hadn't even taken another step forward when he asked, "So is the kid dead?"

Robin froze in his tracks, at first taken aback by the sudden address, then surprised by the question and all that it indicated.

"You remember?" he asked before he thought about it.

Sam snorted. "Of course I do. I don't forget things."

"Oh. Well…no, he's not dead. His brother took you out before you could even leave a mark. And…you don't care at all, do you?"

"Not really."

"Do you care that I'm here?"

"Not really."

"Are you going to look at me at some point?"

Sam didn't say anything, but he did turn to fix piercing brown eyes on Robin, eyes that were much less unsettling than those of the last version of Sam. These eyes were completely normal, completely clear, and completely sane, just—piercing.

"Thank you," Robin said. "Now how about talking to me?"

"Why?"

"Because it's common among…well…people."

Sam smirked. "And what do people talk about?"

"Well, in my experience, mostly they keep entirely to inane, stuffy, and/or sexually repressed subjects. At least, the people I tend to spend time with these days. Either that, or they talk about their multiple-personality disorders and how to combat them. Now, which subject do you think I'm going to pick?"

Sam looked away again, back to the Rottweiler. "You really think talking about it will do you any good? I'm not surprised. People usually think that. Dean usually thinks that. I used to think that, too."

This conversation was going so differently from Robin's last talk with Sam that he found himself floundering a bit, unable to figure out how _this_ Sam could apparently remember everything up to and including what had happened before he'd been knocked out, but the _previous_ Sam didn't even remember what the sun looked like.

He finally settled on asking, "And now you don't think so anymore? What about the real Sam?"

Sam chuckled bitterly. "The _real Sam, _as you call him, doesn't think anything anymore, most of the time. He's too scared."

"Scared of…?"

"Everything. Monsters. Me. He doesn't get it…"

"Doesn't get what?"

He would have expected Sam to be annoyed by his questioning, but actually, Sam didn't even seem to really notice that he was being grilled. Either that, or he just didn't care, which was…worrying, as it indicated that whatever information Robin got, he wouldn't be able to do anything with it.

"He doesn't get that without me, he's nothing," Sam said in answer to his question. "Without me, he's just a scared kid curled up in the corner, paralyzed with fear. I keep him from that fate. I keep him going. I _protect_ him."

"Protect him?" Robin asked, keeping the sarcasm and skepticism from his voice with the ease of long practice. "How?"

"How do you think?" Sam asked. Not angry, just…making conversation. "By keeping him _here._ By handling his fights. By keeping him here, with Bones over there to protect him, while I handle things out _there._"

Now, Robin had never met Sam or Dean. He didn't know what their lives had been, he didn't know what Sam Winchester's psychological state had been before they'd come here.

But he was sure—he was absolutely positive—that if all this man was doing was _protecting_, Robin himself would not have been called in to fix things.

But again, the world inside the mind was often entirely dissimilar from the real world. Things were often much more complicated in the mind—more complicated, and yet somehow simpler, too. So maybe…just maybe…_this _Sam wasn't exactly what Dean thought he was. Maybe he _wasn't_ a bad guy.

"Did you protect him from his memories of Hell?" Robin asked carefully.

Sam looked at him. "How did you know about those?" he asked sharply.

"Did you?"

"I…couldn't. Not entirely," Sam said, oddly reluctant. "I did my best, but…they got out, sometimes."

When the guy Dean called "Other Sam" popped up, Robin guessed. He hoped he was right, because the plan he'd just come up with kind of required it. Actually, it kind of required him to be right about Other Sam, about this Sam not being an evil man, and about Other Sam being really, truly gone.

That was okay. He hadn't been wrong in…well, a few thousand years, at least, even if Cal, Niko, and Ishiah would all disagree with that statement loudly, repeatedly, and perhaps violently.

"What makes you so qualified to protect him, then? Especially if you let such horrible things as memories of Hell slip through the cracks," he added.

Still Sam showed no anger. Robin was beginning to wonder if he _could_ get angry.

"I'm stronger than he is," Sam said simply. "I can live with things that would destroy him. I'm a better hunter. I can help more people, because I'm not crippled by my memories. I have them, but they don't crush me like they crush him. He's weak, and I'm not."

"That may have been true—once. But it isn't anymore. Things are different now."

"You're wrong. Things will _never_ be different. He'll never be strong again. He'll never be the way he was, and we all just have to live with that."

"Now it's my turn to tell you that _you_ don't get it," Robin said. "You don't get that you _are_ him. He may not think so—he may think he's weak, and that he needs you, but it's not true. He _made_ you—you're a part of him—so he's exactly as strong as you are. Stronger, actually, since he was strong enough to create you. And he's strong enough to _un_create you, too." He raised his voice, directing it toward the cave the Rottweiler—Bones—was guarding. "You hear that, Sam? You're not weak. You're strong. Stronger than your memories, stronger than the Sam out here, stronger than Hell. You're stronger than all of it. And it's time for you to go home."

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: This might be the busiest semester since college was invented.<em>

_Just saying._


	4. Redemption Day

_Author's Note: There is really nothing to say after such an absence, so I'm just not going to say anything. Except I'm sorry, and there were reasons. Let us go on._

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 4<span>

Robin didn't know what he'd expected, but what he got was a fairly deep silence, broken only by the breathing of Anti-Sam behind him. Robin didn't permit the silence to last, though, since letting a silence go on was anathema to him.

"Sam? Are you going to answer me, or am I going to have to come in there and drag you out?"

He felt the blow coming before it had a chance to get much momentum, and by the time it came into contact with his head, that head had been replaced by his hand. He held Anti-Sam's fist in a firm grip and said, "I realize that may not have been the wisest choice of words, but couldn't you just have told me that rather than resorting to violence?" On the last word, he gave the arm he held a twist and then, just for the hell of it, flipped Anti-Sam over his shoulder and slammed him to the ground. He probably shouldn't have done it, but he was about at the end of his rope, and it felt cathartic.

Anti-Sam sprang back to his feet almost instantly, still without any expression whatsoever on his face. "You are not going in there," he said flatly. "And you are not dragging him anywhere."

"I said 'dragging' was a poor choice," Robin snapped. He didn't bother to mask his irritation, because Anti-Sam seemed like a much safer outlet than Other Sam had been. "And I'm giving him a choice. He can come out here…or yes, I am very much going in there."

Anti-Sam didn't reply with words, of course—apparently he'd reached the limit of his communication abilities. So instead of his much-beloved repertoire of words, Robin had to delve into another repertoire entirely during the next thirty seconds or so. But he was still Robin Goodfellow, even in this crazy place—he was still ancient, and he was still capable of beating the great Niko Leandros in a fight, so this young puppy posed no real challenge.

Sure enough, it wasn't long before Anti-Sam was flat on his back again…but this time, his head cracked against the ground hard enough to daze him. Robin took advantage of his momentary confusion to pin him in place so that he could say what he had to say without interruption.

"Will you listen to me now, please?" he asked, meeting Anti-Sam's glare squarely. "I'm not interested in hurting you…or killing you, since I'm not quite sure what that would do to Sam."

"You're not…getting…him," Anti-Sam gasped. "I won't let you."

"I think 'let' is a factor that has been rather effectively removed from the proceedings," Robin said. "But you really don't have anything to worry about, I promise. I don't want to hurt Sam—I want to _help_ him. _We're on the same side."_

Anti-Sam laughed harshly. "Nobody protects him. No one thinks he deserves protecting. Even _he_ doesn't think he deserves protecting. I'm the only one who does."

Robin stared down at him for a moment, then abruptly let go of him and stepped back to let him up. Anti-Sam stood and faced him, impassive.

"What do you mean, he doesn't deserve protection?" Robin asked, less irritably now.

"I mean exactly what I said. I protect Sam because I'm the only one who will, and he needs it. He can't stand on his own anymore."

"But that's not true," Robin said, honestly baffled. "His brother basically _exists_ to protect him."

"And how would you know that? You've never met Dean before today."

"I know the type. Well enough to know that Sam does have protection—and it's not you."

"But Dean _hasn't_ protected him," Anti-Sam said, suddenly sounding almost desperate. "Dean hasn't protected him from anything. If he had, we wouldn't be here. _I_ wouldn't be here. I know that. I wouldn't exist if Dean could protect him."

"What are you talking about? You're not making any sense," Robin said, frustrated.

"Yes, I _am_. Sam needs me to handle things for him because he can't do it by himself. Because he's broken. Because _no one_ stepped in to save him from that…that place. Including Dean."

Robin sighed. "Look, I'll admit that I don't know the whole story here. I didn't really have time to get all the information. But I've seen enough to know one thing for sure, and it's not going to be easy to break it to you: you're not protecting Sam. All you're doing is hurting him."

Anti-Sam looked so surprised that the last bit of doubt in Robin dissolved. Whatever else he had to worry about, he didn't have to worry that Anti-Sam was actually evil.

"You are," he continued, pressing the advantage given to him by Anti-Sam's silence. "Why do you think he's fighting you? Why do you think he keeps going back to the real world/ He doesn't want to be here. But all that means is that every time he goes back to the real world, he can't deal with it—not really. He always has to worry about when you're going to send him back here, and he can't handle anything—but it's not because he's not capable of it. It's because you won't let him."

Anti-Sam had been watching him as he talked, calculating. "I know Dean thinks I have no soul. And maybe I don't. I don't know what a soul feels like. But I do know why I'm here, and it's to protect Sam—even if I do get tired of the wimp. And now you're telling me I'm not doing it?"

"I am," Robin said steadily. "Now the question is, are you going to let me go in there and do what you can't?"

Apparently one of Anti-Sam's qualities was that he didn't take long to come to a decision about things. He only looked at Robin for a few more moments before he turned his gaze to the cave and whistled.

The giant dog, which had been watching them from the cave entrance, lazy but ready for a fight, got to its feet, stretched, and came trotting over.

"Go."

Robin went. And when he reached the cave and turned back, Anti-Sam and the dog had gone.

XXX

He hadn't expected to walk into an apartment surprisingly like Niko and Cal's. There was only one bedroom, but other than that, the resemblances were striking. Small kitchen/dining room/living room combination, couch chosen for cheapness and comfort rather than attractiveness, dishes in the sink, clothes strewn over the living area (because sometimes Cal's sloppy ways prevailed, at least for a brief moment, in the Leandros household), and filled bookcases over one entire wall.

And very much not a cave. That was a similarity worth noting.

"How did you get in here?"

Robin wouldn't have though that a man as gigantor-tall as Sam Winchester could just appear in a doorway like that, but…well, this _was_ his mind, after all. What he wanted here, he got. That was all it was. He certainly hadn't managed to _sneak up_ on Robin Goodfellow. But either way, there he was, in the doorway to the bedroom, accompanied by a large golden retriever—_seriously, what was it with this kid and dogs?—_and staring at Robin with a mix of suspicion and…was that relief?

"I was…invited," Robin said, hesitating over the word.

"Invited," Sam said skeptically, but with an odd amusement in his eyes. "Into my brain."

"You know where we are?" Robin asked, very much taken aback and suddenly doubting that this was the real Sam after all.

"'Course I do. This place only exists in my memory these days." Sam—if it was Sam—moved across the room as he spoke and began moving clothes off the couch, looking quite at his ease. The dog trotted across the room and flopped down in front of the couch, looking altogether far more normal than anything Robin had seen in Sam's mind so far.

Robin was feeling distinctly wrong-footed. He'd been so sure that he would find a confused, drooling mess that he was a little offended at discovering the opposite. But he sat anyway, studying Sam as he did.

Other Sam had been…raw, open, like an exposed nerve. Anti-Sam had been ice-cold and empty. This Sam was…a man. Just a man. He was dressed in casual Saturday-ish clothes—the kind you would wear if you weren't Robin Goodfellow. His face was open and honest, with a wryness about his mouth that made it look like he was constantly ready to tease and be teased. His eyes, though, were less happy—there was a past in them, secrets, darkness, and…pain. Joe Normal, but with a twist.

Sam allowed him his inspection, looking wryly amused again.

Do you know why I'm here?" Robin asked, after Sam let the silence go for awhile. That was okay—Robin had never in his life had a problem breaking silences.

"I'm hoping—I'm _really_ hoping—that Dean called you to help me. Because if he didn't…I don't want to think about what that means."

"He did," Robin assured him.

"So did you? Help me?" Sam asked, smiling, but serious.

"I'm still trying to figure that out," Robin said frankly.

"Oh. Well, let me know if I can help with that."

"You can start by telling me where we are. And what we're doing here."

Sam shrugged. "Can't answer that second one, but we're at my old apartment at Stanford, from when I went to school here. I didn't know I remembered it so clearly, but…I guess I do. On some level, anyway. I do wonder why Jess isn't here, though…"

"I…don't know. Should she have come with you and Dean to New York?" Robin asked delicately.

Sam simply looked at him until he got it.

"Oh. Of course. I'm sorry."

Sam shrugged again, and there was another silence. But it was Sam who broke it this time.

"So how _did _you get in, anyway?"

"Do you mean into this apartment or into your mind?"

"You pick."

Robin shook his head. "So you are aware that there is a world outside, and you are aware that this apartment only exists in your mind, and yet you stay here, alone. Why?"

"You're really good at dodging, aren't you?"

"Why, Sam? And your answer cannot include a shrug."

Sam, damn him, shrugged, but he did answer. "I just…don't. It just doesn't occur to me. Even when you asked that just now, I didn't really connect the idea of going out to _me._ I'm still not. Isn't that weird?"

"Maybe a bit, but not nearly as strange as finding you in a perfectly normal place in a perfectly normal frame of mind," Robin admitted, deciding to just set the truth out frankly. With a dog, no less."

Sam smiled and leaned down to pat the dog on the head. "Well, what were you expecting? Drooling nut job?"

"Rather, yes."

Sam continued to stroke the dog's head and ears, looking thoughtful. "Have you met the others, then? Is that why you expected me to be nuts?"

"You have?" Robin asked, shocked. Nothing would surprise him now, he was sure. Sam had met the other personalities, and yet here he was still. _Why?_

But Sam was shaking his head. "Dean's told me about them, but I haven't seen them. I don't want to."

"Why not?"

Sam shook his head more firmly. "No. I'm not answering any more of your questions until you answer one of mine. Have you met them?"

"Yes, I have. They're gone, Sam."

"Gone?" Sam asked. He didn't seem relieved, or accusing, or anything but confused.

"Yes. I convinced them that they were no longer needed."

"Really? You didn't kill them? Why not?"

"Sam, I couldn't have done that. I couldn't have 'just' done anything. Psychology is far more delicate than that."

"Psychology?" Sam asked, more baffled than ever. "You mean…wait. They weren't monsters? I actually had split personalities?"

"That's a terrible term, and this is probably the strangest case I've ever seen, but for all intents and purposes…yes."

Sam stared at him, blinking bemusedly for a moment.

And then he laughed until tears ran down his cheeks.

Robin waited politely for him to subside, and after several moments, he did, wiping his eyes and sobering with an effort.

"You know, I don't know why I'm surprised. It's the obvious answer. And actually, it _has_ crossed my mind, but I just never would've guessed that there was no curse of magic or whatever behind all this. There's _always_ magic behind the shit that happens to me. And then this huge thing comes along and takes over my life, and it turns out that I just needed a shrink the whole time."

"Well, I like to think that this is a _little_ more affective," Robin said, ruffled.

"I don't know, man. After all, we _are_ still here," Sam said, still chuckling a little. "So how'd you get them to go, then?"

"By telling them that you could handle yourself without them," Robin said, deciding to simplify things for the moment. "And by convincing Other Sam that the outside world existed and wouldn't hurt him. I'll tell you the whole story after I've gotten us back to reality."

"And how will you do that?"

"By telling you to go outside."

Sam stared at him. "Seriously? That's been the answer the whole time? Just get up and walk out?"

"I assume that's what you do every time you surface, and you just don't remember."

"It's true, I don't. I never have any idea how I get back up, and I never remember being here when I go back." Sam looked down at Bones. "What do you think, buddy? Should we trust him?"

Bones perked up. He looked from Sam to Robin to the door of the apartment and, without further ado, got up and trotted over to the door. When he reached it, he turned back to look at them and barked twice.

"Good enough for me," Sam said. He grinned as he got up and headed for the door, an unexpected flash of pure good humor that took Robin aback for a second—and also made him forget Ishiah for a moment.

Well, almost. It was _Ishiah, _after all.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: I was going to do more—like, just finish the whole story and then post—but it had been so long since I wrote anything that I wanted to give you guys <em>something_…if anyone is still reading. I've started the next chapter, and it will _not_ be another year before you see it...again, if anyone is still reading this._

_Okay. That's all. Bye. _


	5. Help Me Make It Through the Night

_Author's Note: I'm sorry. I suck. What excuse there is comes at the end. That is all._

Chapter 5

Dean took another swig of what felt like his five hundredth beer and made an honest effort not to sigh out loud. From the way Niko was looking at him, though, he hadn't been very successful.

"Are you sure it should be taking this long?" he asked. He was mostly trying to cover the sigh, but he hadn't been sure how much longer he would be able to hold back the question, anyway.

"I'm not worried," Niko replied calmly, from where he sat cleaning his many blades. Cal had dozed off some time ago, but Niko appeared neither bored nor sleepy.

"Well, that's great for you," Dean snapped, nettled by his half-brother's serenity. "But I'm pretty sure you wouldn't be worried if Sam and that guy were sucked up by a sudden tornado, so you'll forgive me if I don't just take your word for it."

"Puck."

Dean waited for Niko to elaborate on his rather obscure non-response—perhaps he was trying to introduce the neutral topic of hockey?—and for once, Niko obliged without prodding.

"Robin is not a 'guy'. He is a puck. An ancient, immortal creature. He has no idea how old he actually is, as far as I know, but he has been here far longer than man. He is a pathological liar, but _that_ I have never had any reason to disbelieve."

"Why are you telling me this?

"I want you to understand that Robin really is the best choice to help Sam."

"And you think 'he's really old' counts as a qualification?"

"Yes, I do. You see, there is very little in this world that is a mystery to Robin. It may be that he's never been in this exact situation, but with all his experience, he _will_ be able to figure it out."

"Great," Dean said. "Really, that _is_ great. But I gotta admit, I'm still not exactly comfortable with this."

"Why not?" Niko asked—not really curiously, but rather in the manner of someone arguing a case he had already won.

"Well, it could have something to do with the fact that you guys keep talking about him like he's some kind of criminal."

"Do we?" Niko replied, sounding mildly surprised.

"I seem to recall words like "pathological liar' and 'thief' getting thrown around."

"Well, yes, naturally," Niko said. "He _is_ those things. Also a gambler, a braggart, a profligate, a snob, and, perhaps worst of all, a used car salesman. He will have sex with anything that moves and a few things that don't—or he would, once upon a time, before Ishiah—and I don't deny that his history is…checkered, at best. But he has his own set of morals, and his loyalty, though rarely given, is unshakeable. He has given that loyalty to us, and I trust him with my life. And with Cal's."

The slight emphasis Niko added to that last sentence wasn't really necessary. Dean didn't know him very well—didn't particularly _want_ to know him very well—but on this point, at least, they were kindred spirits. He knew that Niko had no higher recommendation to give.

"Well," Dean said grudgingly, "I guess you've never given me any reason not to trust your judgment. Besides, it's not like we have any real choice."

A small smile flickered across Niko's face. "I'll be sure to relay that information to Robin. He will no doubt be flattered."

Dean shrugged. "Tell him whatever you want, as long as he helps Sam first." He glanced over at Cal, who was stretched out on the floor, head pillowed on his arms, looking as comfortable as if he slept on a king-sized bed at the Ritz—though not nearly so restful. His face was creased in a frown, and every once in a while he would twitch all over or shake his head and murmur something too quiet to be heard.

Niko noticed the direction of Dean's gaze and said quietly, "He dreams a lot these days."

"Yeah. Sam, too. Then again, Sam always did have nightmares. Life we lead, I guess it's pretty inevitable."

Niko nodded, then said, "Tell me about this angel after you and Sam."

"...Sorry?" Dean asked, trying to adjust to the abrupt change of subject.

"The angel. The danger that could show up on my doorstep at any moment that, according to you, I am woefully unprepared to deal with. Tell me what I can expect."

"Um…okay. Well, there's not really that much to tell. He was one of the good guys once upon a time, and then he souped himself up with power that he couldn't handle, and having all that power has made him think he's God. And hell, he might as well be. He's virtually indestructible, he could kill you with a twitch of his fingers, and he has no interest whatsoever in giving up his new place in the universe and becoming a good, wholesome soldier of God again."

"Hm. Virtually indestructible, you say?"

"Well, he can probably be killed—I haven't run across much that can't be killed if you can find the right weapon—but our usual angel-killing methods didn't work, our sources are all tapped out, and even if we could find an alternative method, we'd have a hell of a job getting near enough to him to try it. Angels are tough enough to kill when they're just the usual, run-of-the-mill type. I don't have a clue how to kill one as strong as Cas is now."

"Cas," Niko said, as if testing the word. "You know his name?"

"Yeah," Dean said shortly. "He was a friend."

"And that won't keep you from doing what needs to be done if he comes here and we _can_ do it?"

Dean glared at the man across from him, still serenely wiping down one of his swords. "Look what he did to my brother," he hissed, jerking his head toward Sam and Robin. "And ask me again if I can kill him. Whatever he was to me, he's my enemy now, and that's all that matters."

Niko inclined his head in acceptance. "Good. Then you won't be averse to helping me come up with a plan of attack in case we need it."

"Well, no, but I think a plan of attack would be a huge waste of time. A plan of _escape _wouldn't go amiss, though…" Dean said, his glance sliding, almost involuntarily, to Cal.

Niko noticed, of course. "Nothing has changed since the last time you came here. Cal won't be able to…help…if your angel shows up."

"Right." Dean didn't bother trying to mask his disappointment. It wouldn't work. And he was tired. Too tired to dance around the subject. "Because he got dangerous." 

Niko's hand twitched so that the lamplight flashed off the knife he held. It might have been a coincidence.

Or not.

Dean put his beer down and leaned forward, deciding that they should probably get this off the table in case Cas did show up. Otherwise there was absolutely no way to be sure that Niko would lift a finger to help anyone besides Cal. In fact, Dean was willing to bet he would stand aside and watch while Cas took care of the problem.

"Look," Dean said, pointedly looking at Niko's face instead of at the knife. "Whatever your brother did to get his abilities locked down, it wasn't even big enough to make it across our desk." Not that they had a desk, but you know. Figure of speech. Nik was smart. He'd get it. "And you guys seem to have things pretty well in hand now. Maybe that'll change someday, and maybe that day there'll be a conversation. But today you're helping Sam, so I'm keeping you guys in the friend column for the moment. You willing to do the same?"

Niko studied him for a moment, then nodded. "I am."

"All right, then." Dean sat back, rested his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes, trying not to let his relief show. That could have been ugly. And Dean was man enough to admit that it probably wouldn't have been too ugly for Niko.

At least in his own mind, where no one could hear. Probably.

"It wouldn't be a very long conversation."

Dean opened his eyes and tilted his head up to look at Niko. "Hmm?"

"The conversation you alluded to. The one that you allege would happen if things…change. It wouldn't be a very long one." Niko's voice was calm and steady—and clearly brooked no argument. "I just want that to be clear."

"Never doubted it for a second," Dean said lightly, keeping his muscles loose and his posture relaxed, even though not tensing—or reacting with violence, as his instincts screamed he should—took every ounce of his self-control.

But with Sammy down for the count, Dean was stuck being the sensible one, the one who _didn't_ lash out at a man who hadn't done anything to him and who—if the way he moved and spoke and held that knife was any indication—could probably kill him between one breath and the next.

It was not a costume he wore well.

Which was why he really, really, _really_ hoped that whatever Robin was doing as he sat over there, it was working.

XXX

If Dean had allowed himself to think about it—if he had allowed himself to think ahead at all—he would have expected Sam and Robin's return to the real world to be fairly dramatic. The last time Sam had woken up on a ventilator, he'd panicked and fought the machines and tried to rip the tube out of his throat and generally caused a pretty impressive ruckus. Sam wasn't on a ventilator now, but in a way, this sleep was worse—deeper—than a coma, and there was just no way Sam was going to have any idea what the hell was going on when he woke, any more than he'd had back then. So in the back of his mind, he'd expected Sam's awakening this time to be a repeat of that performance.

It wasn't.

For a minute or two, he didn't even realize Sam was back, actually. He'd been expecting sudden movement, but Sam just _looked_ at him, blinking slowly, looking confused and dazed and surprisingly serene for someone who'd just been hypnotized to get rid of his two psychotic alter-egos. It wasn't until Robin sprang lightly to his feet and said, "Well, there you have it. No need to applaud—unless you would rather, of course" that Dean realized.

"Wait…Sam? That you? It's you, isn't it?"

"Um…I think so?" Sam said, sounding a little uncertain. "I'm…I'd say ninety percent sure."

"Well, that's ninety percent better than we were," Dean muttered, pushing himself out of his chair to go and kneel next to Sam. "How're you feeling?"

"Like complete and total shit. Still better than…what? Yesterday?"

"Uh…yeah, I guess. Kinda hard to keep track after awhile."

"Tell me about it." Sam sat up, groaning, then looked around. "Uh…hi, guys."

Dean followed his gaze and saw that Cal had woken up and joined Niko and Robin, who were standing around the couch.

"Hey, Sam," Cal said, raising a hand in a half-wave. "Last I heard you were a perma-torch. This is…better, I guess. _Ouch. _Damn it, Nik."

"Behave. We do not use terms like 'perma-torch' when referring to one of our…friends…being tortured in Hell. In fact, I believe in polite society, we do not refer to the torture at all."

"How the hell would you know? It's not like we've exactly _been_ in this situation before."

Niko just looked at him, and Cal somehow managed to look uncomfortable, contrite, and defiant all at once.

Dean really was going to have to figure out what was up with those awkward moments that seemed to keep happening whenever Cal skirted too close to…_something_.

If Niko wouldn't shove two and a half feet of sharpened steel through his gut for trying.

"Welcome back, Sam," Niko was saying.

"From Hell or from Crazy Town?" Sam asked wryly. "Either way, it's good to be back. Thanks for that, by the way," he added, glancing at Robin.

"The pleasure was mine, I'm sure," Robin replied. "However, it was not so great a pleasure that I'm willing to sit and chit-chat while there's a naked peri wandering around my home, ready and waiting and…maybe other things…" His eyes unfocused, gazing at something only he could see. "Yes. Well. It was nice to meet you. Try not to need me again, although I understand that might be difficult, as everyone usually needs me in one way or another. Enjoy your stay."

And then, without another word, he strolled casually out of the apartment as if the evening had been no more remarkable than any other group gathering.

Dean watched him go, then shook his head as the apartment door closed, feeling slightly…dazed.

Cal noticed and snorted. "Yeah. That happens sometimes. It's the feeling of suddenly being able to breathe again once his ego stops taking up all the space and air in the room. It can leave newbies feeling a little disoriented."

"Whatever. His ego could be the size of Russia and Pluto combined and I'd still think he was a swell guy." He turned back to Sam, who was blinking slowly, looking like he'd just been hit over the head with something heavy. "So. Guess asking if you remember anything is pretty moot, since you knew Robin and all."

"Yeah…uh…actually, I _don't_ remember much," Sam admitted. "A couple flashes. That guy—Robin, you said his name was?—telling me I had to…leave, or walk out, or something. I guess we had some kind of conversation, but I don't really remember. And then I was here."

"And it's…_just_ you here, right?" Dean asked carefully. "I mean, you're…y'know…alone?"

"Far as I can tell. But then, I had no clue I _wasn't_ alone in the first place, so I guess we'll just have to wait and see, won't we?"

"Yeah," Dean said absently, reaching out to tilt Sam's chin so he could see his eyes. They were muddy with confusion, and he guessed there was really no way to tell if there was…someone else…behind them, but at least he couldn't see any obvious signs that Robin had caused any brain damage with his little jaunt through the kid's mind.

Of course, even if he had, Dean probably would have let it go at this point, provided that it wasn't _really bad_ brain damage.

Sam pushed his hand away. "Stop it, dude," he said with a quiet huff of laughter and started to sit up. Dean put an automatic hand on his shoulder to hold him down. "Dean, for God's sake," he said, more annoyed now. "Let me up."

"Hey," Dean said sharply. "Watch the God stuff." 

"You're not serious."

"Hell yes, I'm serious. Who knows what'll draw Cas at this point, y'know? And I am really not in the mood for a fight right now."

"Yeah, me neither," Cal spoke up. "Actually, I'm about ready for you guys to get the hell out so I can go to bed."

"Cal," Niko said sharply.

"What? Like you weren't thinking the same thing. We did our bit. Sam's boogy-men are gone, he's awake, he's lucid, and there's no reason to think he won't stay that way. And as long as they're here, there's a chance that the angel nuke is gonna show up to splatter the walls with our blood 'n guts, and we're not exactly geared up for a fight right now, in case you forgot."

"Be that as it may," Niko said calmly, "that's no reason to be impolite."

"It's okay," Dean said flatly. "We'll go. You've done enough. No reason to expect you to harbor Heaven's public enemies number one and two."

Neither Cal nor Niko appeared to even hear him. They were staring fixedly at each other. Not glaring—neither of them looked even slightly annoyed. But there was a certain feeling in the air—a sense that somehow, even though no words were being spoken, there was an argument going on.

Finally, Cal snorted. "Fine. Whatever. I'm not giving up my bed. And if this guy shows up, I'll throw them at him in a second if it comes down to a choice between us and them. Nice to see you guys again. I'll see you in the morning if you're still here and still alive when I get up."

With that, he disappeared into the bedroom without a glance at Niko.

Niko didn't refer to Cal's sudden, strange disgruntlement, not even obliquely. He just said, "I trust the living room will do. I'm afraid we don't have much in the way of extra blankets, but there are a couple of them in that closet. You'll have to use the pillows on the couch, though."

Dean shrugged, looking at the floor with only slight distaste. "I've slept worse. And to be honest, I could sleep at the bottom of a well right now. I just need a few hours and then I'll be good to go. We'll get the hell outta dodge first thing."

Niko didn't bother to make polite noises about that one. "All right. Sleep well." He disappeared into the bedroom without another word.

"Dean," Sam said pointedly. "You've been holding me down for five minutes now. Feel like backing off a bit?"

"Well, I would, except you kinda have a history of doing seriously stupid things when I, as you put it, 'back off a bit.'"

"Stupid things like…sitting up?" Sam asked.

"Well, yeah, sure, let's start there. You've basically been a zombie for weeks, you were practically comatose all night, and a trickster just spent _hours_ messing around in your brain. So I'm thinking a little caution might be in order."

"Caution about…sitting up," Sam said, sounding amused now.

Dean looked away, jaw clenching.

"Dean, seriously, what's bugging you?"

"What's bugging me?" Dean asked in disbelief. "Did you seriously just ask what's bugging me? You're lying flat out on our half-brother's couch because our best friend hurt you and is now trying to kill us. I just spent the night watching a _trickster—_a dude who gets his rocks off playing games with people's lives—dig around in your head without being able to even tell if he's hurting you, let alone stop him. On top of that, I had to ask Cal and Niko for help—again. I never even wanted to _see_ these guys again because every time I do things get so damn complicated, but I still brought us here, and I don't regret doing it because we needed it. But we're still _here_, and as usual, they've made things complicated because one of them is 'dangerous' by his own admission, and I don't know what to do about it. I don't know if anything _should _be done about it, and I don't really _want_ to do anything about it. Which should probably bug me because from what those two carefully _haven't_ said, there's a chance Cal could go off the deep end and slaughter half of New York at any time. And Niko's probably listening to me say all this right now and picturing exactly how he's going to slit my throat without getting too much blood on the carpet, even though I just said I don't plan to actually do anything about Cal because…because damn it, I _like_ the guy. Plus, I've spent weeks catching cat-naps here and there so that I could spend my nights making sure that you didn't wander off and slit your wrists or something. And _you just asked what's bugging me?"_

Sam had looked amused at the beginning of the speech. By the middle of it, that amusement had faded into surprise, probably at the constant stream of words from his usually stoic brother. By the end, he just looked sad and…guilty. Very, very guilty.

"And stop looking at me like that," Dean snapped. "You have your apology face on, and I'm not too tired to beat the shit out of you if you say you're sorry. None of this is your fault. None of it." He took a deep breath and ran a frustrated hand through his hair, making it stand on end. "Look, just…go to sleep, okay? We'll talk tomorrow."

He briefly considered lying with his back to Sam, in order to make…some kind of point. But in the end, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not yet. Instead he laid down on his back, gaze fixed on the ceiling, his eyes flicking every once in a while to Sam, who was likewise staring upward.

He was exhausted. He hadn't been lying to Niko about that.

But it was a long time before he fell asleep.

_Author's Note: I'm not really going to go into detail with the excuses I promised, but I will say that there are a number of factors that went into this extreme wait. I had writer's block; I bought a house; I've had to be there for my best friend whose mother has been dying by inches for over three years, and it's gotten much, much worse in the last six months or so. So yes, there were factors. However, I could have written. I should have written. I just didn't, because I felt like I didn't have anything to say for the longest time and I couldn't muster up the energy to try and _find_ anything to say, and I'm sorry for that. I hope someone's still reading this, but I can't blame them if they're not. If you are, though—reviews are love. Completely undeserved love, but still. _


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